Cuckoo's Nest: Reminiscences, Reflections, and Ramblings of a Life—So Far

By Chris Chorlton

Telling stories of growing up in postwar Britain, starting a new life in Canada, raising a family, working in a major corporation, experiencing an active retirement, and enjoying the pleasure of grandchildren, Cuckoos Nest tells the life story of author Chris Chorlton.

With a dash of humour, a touch of sadness, a pinch of whimsy, and a little dose of reality, Chorlton describes his escapades with doctors, his attempts to outfox squirrels, his experiment with hypnotism, and how he met his wife. His memoir also recalls his last day at the office, the challenges of carrying a piano down stairs, the memories of an emotional Remembrance Day ceremony, the illness of his newborn grandson, the loss of some schoolboy heroes and older friends, and his commitment to Rotary. Chorlton shares real stories of a real life.

Praise for Cuckoos Nest

Chris Chorlton puts a fresh face on old truths. He has a knack for placing the reader at the heart of his very charming personal storieswhich gently unfold to reveal the common bonds we all share.
John Stewart, Mississauga News

Please read these tales told by my friend and former colleague Chris Chorlton. Like me, I believe you may recognize a little of yourself, you will have a good laugh and, yes, perhaps shed a tear.
Sir Graham Day

Stories I can relate to. Cuckoos nest brings people in everyday situations to life, with some surprises. Read ityoull enjoy it. Buy ityoull help The Rotary Foundation.
Wilf Wilkinson C.M., President, Rotary International 2007-08
Chair, The Rotary Foundation 2012-13

All royalties from the sale of the book will be donated to The Rotary Foundation

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Mar 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781462016266

Chris Chorlton

Chris Chorlton was born in Cheshire, England, and immigrated to Canada in 1969. Before retiring, he held senior positions in the electricity industry with Ontario Hydro and its successor companies. Chorlton lives with his wife in Mississauga, Ontario; they have two children and four grandsons. He is a Rotarian.

Book preview

Cuckoo’s Nest

Reminiscences, Reflections, and Ramblings of a Life—So Far

AA026663.jpgedited%20images.jpg

A Mississauga Lakeshore Rotary Club Project

All royalties to benefit The Rotary Foundation

iUniverse, Inc.

Bloomington

Cuckoo’s Nest

Reminiscences, Reflections, and Ramblings of a Life—So Far

Copyright © 2012 by Chris Chorlton.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

iUniverse books may be ordered through booksellers or by contacting:

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-4620-1625-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4620-1626-6 (ebk)

iUniverse rev. date: 03/20/2012

Contents

FOREWORD BY WILFRID (WILF) WILKINSON

PREFACE

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

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RESOURCES

For Ena

FOREWORD BY WILFRID (WILF) WILKINSON

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I enjoy talking about Rotary and the work of The Rotary Foundation to clubs that I visit or individuals that I meet.

Some months ago, I was contacted by Chris Chorlton, a member of the Mississauga Lakeshore Rotary Club. We chatted about the local and international projects The Rotary Foundation undertakes. He was particularly interested in the Global Polio Eradication Initiative being carried out with our partners: The World Health Organization; UNICEF; The Center for Disease Control; and more recently, the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation—not to mention the governments of more than 200 countries, including the more than 120 that have become polio-free since Rotary created this largest public/private health-care campaign in the history of the world.

Rotarian Chris told me that for some years he had been writing short stories about his personal experiences and the people he had met. He was planning to publish these stories and wondered if, with the support of his own club, he could help The Rotary Foundation by donating to it any royalties from the sale of the book. The funds raised would be used by the Foundation to continue its good work, not only for polio eradication but for humanitarian projects all over the world.

He asked if I would consider writing a foreword for his book. He sent me a final draft of Cuckoo’s Nest that I could review to help me decide, and he asked for my honest opinion on the interest of his stories to others. This was an offer that I couldn’t refuse, because one of my key duties as a trustee is to raise money for the Foundation. I accepted gladly.

Much to my surprise and great pleasure, I found that I could relate very quickly to the stories, which were all told with a dash of humour, a touch of sadness, a pinch of whimsy, and a little dose of reality. Cuckoo’s Nest brings people in everyday events and situations to life, with some surprises. I couldn’t help reflecting on some similar experiences of my own. I was pleased to tell Chris that I would be delighted to write this foreword.

Everyone will have their own favourite story. I particularly enjoyed the story about him and his wife being invited formally to their son’s home for dinner and the ensuing anticipation of, speculation about, and possible reaction to an announcement that they were not sure would materialize. There is also a story of driving a male friend to the hospital and being mistaken for his same-sex partner, which provided much food for thought. There are many more.

I know you will enjoy reading Cuckoo’s Nest. And by buying it you will be helping The Rotary Foundation continue its humanitarian work around the world.

Wilf Wilkinson, C.M.

President, Rotary International 2007–08

Chair, The Rotary Foundation 2012–13

Trenton, Ontario

December 2011

PREFACE

I have always looked for opportunities to develop my interest in writing, particularly those where I could have some fun with words—even in serious work or family situations.

Like many people, I longed to write a novel, and consistent with the belief that you should write about what you know, I gathered material about the electricity industry, in which I have had the good fortune to work for nearly 40 years, on both sides of the Atlantic. But I had always been able to put off my efforts to start the actual writing because of the pressures of work and family life.

I had no further excuse when I took early retirement in December 2000—I now had the opportunity to write my novel. I started with a great plot but didn’t get very far; I was having trouble developing my characters. I was reluctant to invest the time to write 300 pages before I could confirm a bad result, so I gave up—perhaps only temporarily—on fiction.

I looked around for other vehicles to satisfy my writing urge and found non-fiction short stories. I had no trouble thinking of topics: things that had happened to me at work or at home; things that occurred to me as I going about my daily business; things that I had tucked away, thinking, That would make an interesting story. I scribbled down some initial topics, which quickly became an inventory that I continue to add to, and I began to carry a notebook around with me. From this inventory I wrote my first batch of six stories, all of which are in this book. It took me far longer to complete them than I had ever imagined it would! I showed them timidly to my family, who liked them, and they gave me the encouragement I needed to continue.

I sent a few to The Toronto Star, and many months later, I was thrilled to hear from Kevin Maclean that they wanted to publish Last Day at the Office. I wrote in fits and starts. After all, I wasn’t on a deadline; I was writing for my own enjoyment, and I didn’t have a particular product in mind. For months on end I wouldn’t write, and then a particular subject would grab my attention for a few days. A couple of years ago, I also received considerable encouragement from John Stewart, of The Mississauga News, which published God Bless Tom. This was a story I had written immediately after a moving Remembrance Day ceremony I’d attended. And quite recently, three more stories, Outfoxing the Squirrels, Coping with my Stutter, and A Handyman’s Comeuppance were published in The Globe and Mail, thanks to Lori Fazari.

At first, my audience was my family and friends, particularly my four grandsons, who I hope will live to almost the end of this century. Their families will be able to read about events that happened to their ancestors up to 150 years before, and that gives me pleasure today.

It has taken me nine years to complete Cuckoo’s Nest. I might have had the idea somewhere in my mind that someday the stories would be put into a book, but it was not top of mind, at least not of my mind. Then, some months ago, my wife, Ena, said, It’s time. Backing her words with action—which is one of her many strengths—she bought a self-publishing package with iUniverse, which galvanized me into completing some unfinished stories and embarking on the seemingly endless editing that is required.

One problem I had was deciding on the sequence of the stories. Generally, I have placed them in a rough chronological sequence, reflecting the time period they cover rather than when they were written, with a couple of exceptions.

I am grateful for all those who are the subjects of my stories, and wherever practical, I have obtained their permission to publish. Mostly I have used real names, except where it was not appropriate, in my judgment, to do so. If anyone is in any way offended by what I have written, I am sorry, for that was never my intent. I should also clarify that Cuckoo’s Nest, while autobiographical, is not an autobiography per se. Consequently, there are some friends or family members who have been, and are, important in my life but who are not mentioned in Cuckoo’s Nest.

I also had a problem in coming up with a title. Ena was again a source of inspiration in suggesting Cuckoo’s Nest, but I should explain where that title came from. Liam, my oldest grandson, was about one year old when he began speaking his first words. For reasons unbeknownst to us, and of course to him, he started calling me using the sound cuckoo. At that age, of course, it was just a sound, and he would not have known a cuckoo from a robin, but that name has stuck, and that’s what he and his family call me still—producing some slightly embarrassing, but highly amusing, situations when the name is used in public.

Through Rotary, Ena and I have derived great satisfaction from our contributions to the community over the years, the friendships we have made, and the fellowship we have enjoyed. As a result, we have decided that any royalties arising from this book will go to The Rotary Foundation to help them with their wonderful work around the world in alleviating hunger, thirst, disease, and illiteracy. I am grateful for the endorsement and support of the Mississauga Lakeshore Rotary Club, my own club, in promoting Cuckoo’s Nest and to Wilfrid (Wilf) Wilkinson, President of Rotary International 2007–08 and Chair of The Rotary Foundation 2012–13, for writing the foreword.

Any objectives I might have had have already been met by writing the stories. Anything more is a bonus. I have grown attached to my stories, partly because of the memories and associations they bring back to me and partly because of the pleasure they have given me in writing them. It is my sincere hope that others will enjoy reflecting on their similar experiences while reading about mine.

Chris Chorlton

Mississauga

December 2011

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thanks to my children, Lisa and Martin, and their spouses, Mark and Janice, respectively, for the encouragement they have given me in writing my stories; for permission to publish some personal details of their lives; and for the special joy and pleasure that their children, Liam, Luke, Damon, and Tyler, bring to Ena and me.

Thanks to other family members and friends who are the subjects of my stories.

Thanks to iUniverse for their expert help in publishing Cuckoo’s Nest.

Thanks to Wilfrid Wilkinson, President of Rotary International 2007–08 and Chair of The Rotary Foundation 2012–13, for writing the foreword and for his enthusiastic support.

Thanks to Rotary District Governor Brian Carmichael and Past District Governor Bernd Dinnert for their advice and guidance.

Thanks to the Board of Directors, particularly President Liz Durdan and Past President Bruce Brown, and all members of the Mississauga Lakeshore Rotary Club for their encouragement and support. Thanks to the treasurer, Peter Newhouse, CA, for agreeing to audit the royalties received and the donations made to The Rotary Foundation.

Thanks to Kevin MacLean, of The Toronto Star; John Stewart, of The Mississauga News; and Lori Fazari, of The Globe and Mail, for their encouragement in publishing some of my stories.

Thanks to The Times for extracts from their edition of June 22, 1815.

Thanks to the copyright holders for the brief extracts from the lyrics of the John Lennon/Paul McCartney songs She Loves You, Ticket to Ride, and Hey Jude.

Thanks to Torstar Syndication Services for permission to reprint the illustration associated with Last Day at the Office.

Thanks to David Martindale for providing advice and some photographs associated with the story on the Khethokuhle Child Care Centre.

Thanks to the charity Soul of Africa for the use of material from their website.

Thanks to Toby Gardiner, of RJ Entertainment Publishing, who provided the photograph of Tom Jackson associated with God Bless Tom.

Thanks to Ben Clarkson for permission to use his illustration associated with Coping with My Stutter.

Finally, heartfelt thanks to my wife, Ena, who encouraged me to write, contributed ideas and suggestions, proofread the text, provided computer help when needed, and took practical steps to bring Cuckoo’s Nest to fruition. Without Ena there would be no book.

1

BRINGING HOME THE BACON

During the Second World War, and for a few years after, my father looked for ways to help supplement the rations of the time. Fortunately, we lived in a rambling house built around the turn of the century, with spacious gardens. The front garden was formal, and so it was at the back that we played our games. There we had gooseberry and blackberry bushes and a variety of fruit trees: apple, pear, and damson. The berries were collected when ripe and made into jams or pies. The other fruit was collected in the fall and either made into sauce and bottled or laid carefully on shelves lined with newspaper in the cool cellar. All these efforts were successful and enriched our lives and our table for years. My father then grew more ambitious and decided to try raising hens.

We acquired several hens, the breed of which I have long since forgotten. The eggs were good, but we were troubled by foxes, and we didn’t have the hens more than a year or two before the henhouse was struck by lightning and burned to the ground.

The next venture was mushrooms. My father read an article about how easy it was to grow them at home. He bought several bales of straw, which were deposited in our cellar. I helped him water the straw and turn it occasionally, so it would generate heat. When the straw reached the right temperature, we planted the mushroom spores. This venture was a complete failure. All that came out was about a pound and a half of mouldy mushrooms. My mother threw them out, closely followed by the straw—but my father was allowed to stay.

Undaunted, my father had his next brilliant idea. We all loved bacon and pork so, his logic went, why not raise a pig ourselves and eliminate the middleman—in this case, our local pork butcher, who also happened to be a member of my father’s Rotary club. Soon afterwards, a man came to build the pig sty. The word sty has an unpleasant sound to it. But this sty was different. Strong new timbers were used to build the sleeping quarters, with a sloping roof and a door that led out to the outdoor yard. Entrance to the sty was through a big gate with a latch, a padlock, and strong hinges. The roof was covered with roofing material to keep the rain out, and any gaps between the beams were plugged. Finally, the sty was painted in creosote, then in common use but forbidden today, to preserve the wood for generations of pigs to come. It all looked very snug.

My father knew a number of farmers, and from one of them, probably another Rotarian, he bought a piglet. It was little and pink with a curly tail. I don’t remember whether it was male or female, but Christine, my sister, Graham, my brother, and I decided to call it Snowball.

Snowball changed our daily rituals. All vegetable peelings and wastes were now collected, and once or twice a week were put, along with some meal, into a very large saucepan and boiled for hours. The result was a porridge-like concoction, the smell of which permeated the whole house. It looked very unappetizing to us, but Snowball found it very tasty.

Snowball became the focus of our attentions. After school we would rush to see her (I am assuming with a name like Snowball it was probably female). We fed her. We sat on the sides of the sty with our legs dangling inside. Snowball didn’t seem to mind. She listened while we told her stories. Snowball was a very undemanding part of the family, and you could always rely on her to be in the same place. We played our games around the sty. The roof of the sty was a popular spot, because from there you could sit and survey the surrounding garden or you could climb higher on the apple tree, whose branches overhung the sty.

The days and weeks passed. Snowball grew, as I suppose we all did. As she got bigger, she grunted more and scratched herself against the wooden sides of the sty. Now we kept our legs outside the sty, because she looked and acted as though she wouldn’t stand any nonsense. But she was still Snowball to us. Once a week my father would don his Wellington boots and clean out the sty. The old straw would go on a pile where it would mature and later be put on the roses, and it would be replaced by fresh, sweet-smelling straw.

I don’t know how long it takes for a pig to grow to full size, but eventually the day came when my father told us that Snowball would be going away soon, and that people would come to collect her. While we had known from the beginning that Snowball would move on sometime, I realize now that we did not fully understand when and to where.

I remember the morning quite clearly when my mother told us